


Birthday

by icabyppup



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Needs a Hug, Birthdays, Gaius is MVP here, Gen, Little!Arthur is a good child, Parent Gaius (Merlin), Prince Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Uther Pendragon's A+ Parenting (Merlin), whelp i can tag, young! arthur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26189194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icabyppup/pseuds/icabyppup
Summary: Various birthdays throughout the years, as experienced by Arthur Pendragon.
Relationships: Arthur Pendragon & Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Gaius & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short chapter, I know, but I do have more written and it will exist here shortly!

Arthur woke with the sunrise, the little prince too excited to sleep in. He felt like running around and around his room to use up some of the energy, otherwise he might burst! He couldn’t do that though, because it wasn’t ‘becoming of a Prince’, whatever that meant. He settled for running to the door when the servant delivered him breakfast, and swinging his legs wildly as he ate.

He was almost done with his food when Gaius entered his chambers. The young boy greeted him with enthusiasm, fond of his father’s trusted advisor. The physician was always very nice to him, and sometimes even let him play around in his quarters when he wasn’t busy attending to the knights.

“Happy birthday, Prince Arthur,” the man smiled.

“Thank you, Gaius!” He crowed, jumping down from his seat and running across his chambers. The physician caught the child barrelling towards his legs in a tight hug.

“Shall I escort you down to the training grounds? Sir Guernon is expecting you.”

Arthur nodded eagerly, enthusiastic as always about attending his knight. Arthur had been a page for a while now, and even though he was a lot younger than the other boys he worked really hard to make up for it. Sir Guernon was a good knight to have; he explained things really well and even though the other pages complained he was strict, Arthur didn’t think he was too bad.

Gaius walked the young Prince down to the training ground, and watched fondly as he greeted Leon, a fellow page. Leon was fond of Arthur where the other boys weren’t, and didn’t take to jealousy over Arthur’s young age as many of the other pages did. The physician was forever grateful that Leon had taken the young Prince under his wing – he could certainly use all the positive role models he could get.

Arthur helped his knight all day – he delivered five messages, tidied his weapons and armour and then, for a special treat because he did a good job, Sir Guernon took him through some of the weapons he’d tidied and showed him how to use them! Arthur couldn’t wait to tell his father all about it at dinner.

Gaius was waiting for him when he was finished, and after saying goodbye to Leon they walked back to the castle together. Settling into his chambers, Arthur babbled on about his day in the way of most young children; something responsibility had not yet taken from him. Gaius felt a pang of pre-emptive loss at the thought of an older, sombre Arthur, tempered by premature burden.

A servant brought their meals in and the two began to dine. It would’ve been impossible to notice Arthur’s chatter slowly waning, his energy fading despite the relatively early hour.

“Are you alright, Arthur?”

The boy’s gaze shot up from his plate, and his lower lip slipped between his teeth – a childish habit that had not yet been trained out of him.

“Yes.”

Gaius shot him a disbelieving look, complete with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s fine, I’m just waiting for my father to arrive. I’m sure he’s very busy, but he’ll come eventually.”

Oh. How could Gaius have forgotten about Uther? He was a somewhat distant figure in his young son’s life, but that didn’t stop the boy from believing that his father hung the stars. Gaius didn’t expect Uther to turn up – the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. But to Arthur… Well, the boy had a rather disproportionate amount of faith in his father. The young Prince would defend his father to his last breath, and would not hear a word against him. There was no point going against Arthur’s opinion on the matter.

“I’m sure you’re right.” The lie was bitter in his mouth, but the alternative was simply too unpleasant to stomach – not to mention futile. Gaius collected their plates and took them to the door, whispering a quick few words to the servant taking them. He occupied his young charge for the next few hours, watching the sun dip lower and lower out the windows.

Arthur, with a little nudge, spoke gladly with Gaius. He was grateful for the company as he waited for his father to appear; being much later than the normal time he went to sleep, the activity helped keep him awake. The King was always very busy, there was no reason to believe that today would be any different, even though it was his birthday. Still, his father would make time, even if he was busy. Arthur was sure of it. He just had to stay awake long enough for the King to get away. If his father was making time for him, Arthur couldn’t let him down.

Finally, the doors creaked open! His father strode in, just as Arthur knew he would. The King began to speak, apologising to _ him  _ about his duties! Arthur waved the apology off – it was unneeded. The King was busy, of course he was. Pushing down a yawn, he began to tell his father about his day.

Gaius pressed a coin into the servant’s hand, tight-lipped. The poor young man deserved it for the ordeal of interrupting Uther from his work; a task that most of Camelot’s workers would have rather been beheaded than attempt. Today was an exception though – everyone loved the young Prince Arthur, and a blind man could’ve seen his admiration for his father. For this particular day, the serving boy hadn’t taken much convincing to persuade the King away from his duties.

Gaius sighed quietly and watched Uther’s eyes glaze over as his son rambled tiredly, ignorant of his father’s mental absence. And when the young Prince’s head begun to droop to his shoulder, Gaius ushered the King out and quietened Arthur’s gentle protests, tucking the boy into bed with all the tenderness of a parent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uther's Birthday...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, I'm not super happy with this one but here it is.
> 
> Massive thanks to CaraIsTrash for all of her help <3 <3

It was Uther’s birthday in a week.

Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem. But his father was always saying that now he was a squire he needed to be more responsible, and Arthur knew that the knights and noblemen all gave his father gifts on his birthday - tokens of their admiration, respect and loyalty. He needed to act more like an adult, and the adults gave his father birthday gifts. It wasn’t hard to work out that was something he needed to do as well.

If only he knew what to get him.

The knights normally performed feats of bravery and daring, presenting the king with impressive trophies – often the heads of large animals. But Arthur wasn’t allowed to leave the immediate castle alone, and this gift was something he had to produce by himself. The noblemen usually gave his father gold, jewels and otherwise valuable objects, but the Prince didn’t have the means to obtain that type of gift either.

He’d been thinking about it for several days when he saw one of the other Squires, early to arrive at the armoury, occupying himself with a dagger and some wood. Arthur’s curiosity was piqued. Sidling over to the boy, he watched from over his shoulder in fascination as he dug chunks out of the wood with his dagger. Before his eyes, the piece of fallen branch took the shape of an (admittedly rough) bear. The start of an idea began to form.

After training that day, Arthur collected a sizeable piece of wood from the ground to bring back to his chambers. He was careful to choose a type that was undesirable for fires – he couldn’t have people going cold on his account, even if it was to make a present for the King.

Back in his chambers, he took his favourite dagger to the wood. Turns out this (whittling, the squire had called it when he saw Arthur looking) was not as easy as it looked. Prince Arthur was nothing if not persistent, though, and every night would bring a new piece of tree back to his room and practice carving - sometimes for hours.

His inspiration for the final form this carving would take came from one of his father’s lectures. It was a semi-regular occurrence for the Prince to be hauled into the throne room on little-to-no notice and stand solemnly as Uther gave him a stern talking to about his most recent failings. They were all some variation of the same four or five lectures Arthur had been hearing for as long as he could remember, so tuning them out while still absorbing the information was easy. It was just more of the usual ‘uphold the family name, be a Pendragon by doing this’, but it did give him an idea. For the rest of the lecture, Arthur let his mind wander to how best to carve a dragon.

The night before his father’s birthday, Arthur returned to his chambers exhausted after a long training session. The squires had been worked harder than normal that day, but despite his aching limbs Arthur was determined. He had to finish his father’s present before the feast tomorrow. The young prince lit a candle and placed it on his desk, preparing for a long night. Arthur settled himself in a chair, picking up the wood and his knife and taking a deep breath. Then, he placed his knife on the wood and begun.

The candle had almost burned out by the time he set his knife down. Surveying his work through blurry eyes, Arthur allowed himself a small, proud smile before blowing out the candle and collapsing exhausted into his bed.

…

Arthur slept soundly through what was left of the night, but still had to make an effort to shake off his tiredness when a servant woke him. There was no training that day, instead he and the other squires were dressed in fine garb and sat in a row; the older knights and noblemen beating court etiquette into their heads until there was room for little else. Arthur had heard it all before – obviously, he was the Prince – but managed to occupy himself with his excitement to present his gift to the King.

Daydreaming through the lessons, Arthur imagined kneeling before the throne, presenting the carving to his father. He imagined his father smiling, maybe even giving a nod of approval. Before he realised it, the Prince was being bundled into his finest clothes and, grabbing his gift on the way, he was pushed out into the great hall.

The feast was okay, Arthur supposed. The food was rich and decadent, all his father’s favourite dishes piled high on the banquet table. Servants hurried to and fro, refilling glasses that were drained so quickly it was barely worth them leaving the noble’s sides.

Finally, the time came for gifts to be presented to the King. Arthur could barely contain himself as knight after noble presented his father with various trinkets, trophies and displays of wealth. Finally, Arthur stepped up to the throne and knelt before his father. He held up his carving, the Pendragon crest, and waited.

“Thank you,” his father took the carving.

Arthur’s chest filled with little fizzing bubbles, and he looked up. The King’s cheeks were ruddy and his eyes slightly glazed. Arthur was young, but certainly not stupid. He knew what mead looked like on his father’s face. Arthur waited for a reaction, but it didn’t come. Uther waved him away from the throne, placing Arthur’s sweat, blood and tears atop a steadily growing pile of gifts. The Prince’s young mind spun as the bubbles all popped at once.

His father was drunk, it was fine, it’s his birthday and he didn’t need to spend his time coddling his son. No matter the ways he justified it, the young Prince couldn’t stop the hurt from spreading in his chest.

That night he stole Sir Celin’s goblet and snuck out of the feast early. He drank the mead and threw the ornate cup down the stairs, trying not to cry as he watched the metal dent with each bounce.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'd really appreciate you dropping me a comment, even just a little one. It really makes my day!


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